Good evening! Is today a good day? I just made myself sleepy by looking at Norway photos where I had time to sleep as late as I wanted but not the inclination because the sun never really went down. I gave you plenty of time to sort through my landscape photos and today we are shifting focus to the real reason Woney and I went to Norway: hot guys. <insert Woney’s eye roll here>

I was fully prepared to meet the love of my life in Bergen as evidenced by the weight I lost before taking the trip and the plumping lip goo I carried in my bag. I’m going to deliver a spoiler and tell you that I did not come home with a hot Norwegian man. I would have lead with that via billboard and wedding invitation.

However! I did meet some hottie hot hotties and I’m here to tell you about them now.

First up was Marco. A quick aside about Marco. He was the first thing in Norway to make me cry which will be included in a separate post titled: Things That Made Me Cry In Norway. Please stay tuned for that. Anyway, Marco was a pianist and also one of three tour guides for the two mile hike Woney and I took through the woods to a grotto (which in America we would simply call a cave). We had visited the home of Ole Bull, more about that coming later, and after the house tour, we set off for a walk in the rain to the grotto. We were implored to go ONLY IF our shoes could take the journey as it was gloppy and mucky. No one mentioned appropriate footwear neither in the ticket booth nor on the informational literature so I had opted for fun over functional in the hopes I would find my hot guy on day one. Well.

I asked the three tour guides if my shoes would work, making especially sure that I hiked my pants above my ankle so that Marco could see my well-turned foot bones, etc. and despite all of them musing, “meh,” I opted to go. Woney was going to do it on her new titanium knee and one of the tour guides was wearing rubber rain boots and carrying an apple basket so I figured I’d be okay. How hard could it be? I’d just go slow and hang on to somebody’s arm, perhaps Marco’s! And for a while, that’s what I did.

But then what had happened was, I was following feet instead of bodies and some of those feet took a detour but in the rain I couldn’t really see that so I found myself at the top of a slippery precipice which featured stunning views but lots of rain and fog and heather and mud. “Huh,” I mused. “Where’s the rest of the group? Where’s Woney? Where’s Marco? Where’s the lady with the apple basket in the rubber boots?” I found none of these answers but I found Margaret and her husband on the precipice with me, and we made our way down the rocks amongst the heather, Margaret clutching her husband and me clutching Margaret. Things were going swimmingly until I hit one rock just the right way with my “meh” shoes, and in the space it takes a hummingbird’s wings to flap, I was on my ass in the mud, my head buried in a bed of wet heather. I looked up to see Marco turn the corner, a look of horror on his face, and then he sprinted towards me. You’d think I’d be pleased what with Marco sprinting in my direction to save me, but the truth is, Margaret was no spring chicken and I had taken her down with me. Yes. I took a white haired old lady down into the mud and heather, and not only was I humiliated, but I think I hit so hard that I peed a little which is not really the way to properly introduce yourself to a hot Norwegian man, even if he has already seen your well-turned foot bones, etc.

We all made sure Margaret was okay and we got most of the mud off my butt (Marco did not help) but the mood was ruined. We then made our way to the grotto where I took this stunning picture so in the end, I guess I’m okay.

No, I did not get a good picture of Marco. Of course I didn’t.

A couple of days later, Woney and I took the Norway in a Nutshell tour (HIGHLY RECOMMEND!) and I experienced the second and third things in Norway that made me cry. Stay tuned! Post coming soon! Part of that tour included a ride on the Flam Railway which is just about the most scenic trip I have ever taken in my life. I guess it was the same for everyone because the great seats Woney and I snagged were soon squished with other eager passengers, two of which were Magnus and Stiegan, and Magnus was gorgeous. Wait. Magnus was GORGEOUS. My word, his legs, his oddly green eyes, his manly jaw. He sat next to me and I thought my ovaries were going to burst. Not only was he beautiful but he was interesting and friendly, not very common in Norway. The Norwegians are not a friendly people. Not unfriendly, mind you, but not in your face friendly like we are here in the South.

Anyway, we had a couple of hours to yap with Magnus who is an orthopedic surgeon (!) and also Stiegan who I do want to mention because he was nice although a little homely, and things were going quite well. I figured, “what the hey, I’ll see if I can get a selfie with him,” because I had used my lip plumping goo and thought we’d look nice together, but the minute I whipped out my phone, Magnus fell into paroxysms of “No! I can’t allow photos to be taken! I am terrified of biomolecular biological technology and facial recognition!” and I wondered if maybe he’s a wanted man? Was I sitting next to a criminal of some sort, like a playboy ax murderer? It felt a little weird and Woney and I made eyes at each other like, “Is he serious or just a fruit loop?”

Later Magnus and Stiegan offered us a drink but it was a warm can of beer out of a box and they were hiding behind a pole so that the train conductor would not see them drinking at the train station. Plus they both donned ladies sunglasses, so all-in-all, I think Woney and I dodged a bullet from a bonafide fruit loop.

You will understand that we did not get a photo of Magnus. Or Stiegan. Trust me, Magnus was a hottie. And sure, Stiegan was nice. It was this train ride where I took this stunning photo so I’m okay with no hot guy photos.

Finally, Woney and I took a second scenic cruise that featured a wad of fjords and also the fourth thing in Norway that made me cry. That promises to be an exciting post so be sure and look for it! I was standing on the deck of the boat, my hair whipping in the wind and my mouth hanging open as I looked at our beautiful world, when a hottie hot hot guy said, “Hey. It’s gorgeous isn’t it?” And that was it. We were off and running. I’ve never met a more me person than me before until I met Dhruv. “Hey, want to take a selfie real quick?” he asked. DO I! “Hey, want to try my snacks?” he asked. DO I! “Hey, can I have a hug before we part ways?” he asked. CAN HE! “Hey, should we try to get together before we both leave for our home countries?” he asked. SHOULD WE! Poor Woney. She is used to me and loves me but I think it was a bit much for her to have two of me all in one spot. Oh, she tried all the snacks and took all the selfies and gave all the hugs but it was more “your new friend is cute and you do what you like, but pajamas are calling my name” than it was “yes, let’s have lunch and breakfast and tours of the leprosy museum with a midnight meeting for some more food, yay, new friends!”

Dhruv and I tried hard to get together again but in one teensy way Dhruv is not like me (aside from his nationality and heritage and gender, of course) in that he wants to hike at every opportunity. I like hiking, sure, but I do get tired like a normal human and so it never happened. He went hiking and Woney and I went shopping. We are connected, though, and Woney and I plan on heading to London soon to meet up with some of our new friends, Dhruv included.

Yes, I did get some good pictures of Dhruv and I present him here for your viewing pleasure. Ain’t he cute? Plus the whole vibe is “stunning photo” so I feel good about it. I’ve got Dhruv’s deets for any of you interested in meeting a man with a British accent and excellent teeth. I’ll take you with us to London. Woney will be so pleased. <insert Woney’s eye roll here>